Getting Hit in the Face With a Pile of Bricks
by Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Summary: After Hogwarts, Harry is a complete mess, Ron is a Quidditch player, and Hermione is working at the Ministry. Life is just peachy. But then, one morning, Ron realizes something...


Getting Hit in the Face with a Pile of Bricks  
  
Nefertiri's Handmaiden  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own, blah blah blah, just borrowing, yadda yadda, don't sue.  
  
Note: This story is yet ANOTHER 'how it might be' story of how Ron realizes and expresses his feelings for Hermione. The main plot is old and overdone, but somehow these stories are still interesting and fresh. Hope you enjoy!  
  
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"Harry! Get your lazy bum out of bed!" Ron's voice came from just outside Harry's bedroom door.  
  
Harry rolled over and groaned. He pushed away the blankets and fumbled blindly for his glasses. Ron entered the dark room, picked the glasses up from where they lay dangerously close to the edge of the bedside dresser, and handed them to his messy-haired friend.  
  
"Now, up!" Ron said.  
  
Harry grunted in response and slid them on. He struggled out of bed and stumbled toward the door ahead of Ron.  
  
"Harry," Ron called when his friend had almost reached the door of his room. Harry turned around. "Put on some clothes, mate," Ron reminded him.  
  
"Ah," said Harry, and started to search the floor for some clean pants. Ron shook his head and padded off to the kitchen, where a fresh pot of coffee waited.  
  
After the death of Sirius, Harry had withdrawn from the world almost completely, slipping into a depression from which he only emerged to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Even after Harry's defeat of Voldemort in their 7th year, his condition had not improved.  
  
He rarely smiled, never laughed, and he slept anytime he was not at the ministry, chasing the remaining Death Eaters. He would sleep right through blaring alarms, and the only way to get him on his feet was to have someone wake his forcefully.  
  
The job had fallen to Ron, as Harry's roommate. Ron would wake up, put on the coffee, and then spend 5 minutes trying to coax his friend from the warm retreat of sleep.  
  
Ron entered the kitchen of the small apartment Harry and he shared, and shivering a little when the cold tile made contact with his feet. He grabbed his favorite coffee mug: the one that Hermione had given him. It was painted with the words '#1 Keeper,' charmed to change colors constantly when filled. He poured a steaming cup for himself, and one for Harry, and headed to the table, thinking absently to himself. 'Hermione doesn't drink coffee. She likes tea.'  
  
He stopped in his tracks. Why had he thought of Hermione instantly? He shook his head. He had just done it because she had given him the mug in his hand. His favorite one. But why was it his favorite? There was nothing particularly special about the mug. His mother had given him another that was similar, but he liked Hermione's better.  
  
And this wasn't the only time it had happened. Lately, he had constantly noticed himself thinking of her in random situations. The other day, he had thought of her at the grocery store, while buying some honey. It had reminded him of her eyes. Speaking of her eyes. . .  
  
Then it hit him, like a pile of bricks in the face.  
  
His jaw dropped, and his hold on the mug loosened. It fell to the floor, shattering upon impact into a million tiny pieces. He sank into a chair in front of the table.  
  
He, Ron Weasley, was in love with Hermione Granger. Bushy-haired, brainy, best friend, beautiful Hermione Granger.  
  
"Harry!" he called, somewhat frantically. There was no response.  
  
"HARRY!" he called again, in absolute hysteria.  
  
Seconds later, Harry appeared, brandishing his wand. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his pants weren't buttoned. He slid on the tile floor, because of his socks, and only managed to stop when he hit the counter.  
  
He looked around alertly. "What? What is it?"  
  
Ron looked up at Harry and said weakly, "Harry. . . I love Hermione."  
  
Harry lowered his wand. "Yeah. So?"  
  
"You knew?"  
  
"Of course I knew. Everyone knows."  
  
"What? How could they know, when-"  
  
"Wait, wait, wait. Do you mean to tell me. . . YOU didn't know?" There was silence for a moment in the small kitchen. Then Harry's face split into a smile, an almost unheard-of event. "All these years. . . and you just figured it out."  
  
Harry couldn't help it. He burst into laughter, an event that WAS unheard of. He sunk into a chair across from Ron, still shaking with laughter. Ron smiled slightly; glad to see his friend exhibiting an emotion other than depression or anger, then frowned again.  
  
"You just figured it out," gasped Harry through his hysterical laughter, pointing at Ron.  
  
After a while, Harry calmed down a little. "Ron," he said, still smiling, "You're an idiot."  
  
"It's not funny, Harry! This is horrible! It's a catastrophe! It'll ruin our friendship!" Ron said indignantly.  
  
"Are you mental, Ron? It'll bring you closer. She loves you too. Has for a long time."  
  
Ron sat in shock. "Really?"  
  
"Yes, really. To tell the truth, we've been wondering when you two would get over yourselves for ages. Haven't you ever seen 'Friends?' Monica married Chandler and they were best friends."  
  
"Hermione and I aren't going to get married. And what the bloody hell is 'Friends?'"  
  
Harry ignored Ron's question. "How do you know?" He said as he raised one eyebrow as he looked over the coffee cup he had just gotten from the counter. "We're all sure that you will, once you stop worrying about nonrealistic rejection."  
  
"WHO'S 'WE?'"  
  
"Your family and I. It's the main topic of conversation when you're not there."  
  
"Wh. . .j. . . ha. . ." Ron spluttered. "Why would you talk about something like that?"  
  
"Because it's immensely entertaining to watch you two beat around the bush. However, it's beginning to become annoying."  
  
Ron stared at Harry, his mouth hanging open. The Boy Who Lived smiled back and glugged his coffee. After a few minutes, Harry stood.  
  
"Look, Ron, Hermione will be here soon to pick me up for work. I suggest you bite the bullet, and tell her how you feel, so your mother can begin planning the wedding."  
  
"Harry-"  
  
"Don't 'Harry' me. She's not going to reject you. I'll manage to get myself to work today, and tell Hermione's boss that she's sick. You can spend the day together. Alone." Harry winked. Ron's ears turned red. The doorbell rang.  
  
"That's her. I'll get it," Harry said as he practically skipped to the door.  
  
Hermione was searching for something in her bag when Harry opened the door. "Harry, are you ready to-" she stopped abruptly when she looked up. "Harry," she said, "You aren't wearing a shirt."  
  
Harry grinned, which made Hermione grin. "I know," he responded. "You need to stop stating the obvious, Hermione."  
  
She laughed, and nearly choked when he joined her. "Well, I'm glad to see you're in a good mood today. Now go get a shirt on so we can get to work."  
  
"Right," he replied. "Come on in. Ron's in the kitchen and he wants to talk to you." Harry left the door open for Hermione and headed off to his room to search for a shirt that could pass as clean.  
  
"Ok," said Hermione slowly as she entered the apartment. She found Ron in the kitchen, as Harry had said. "Hi Ron," she said with a smile. He stared at the table and mumbled something back. She walked toward him, but stopped when she noticed the broken mug and spilt coffee on the floor.  
  
"Ron," she said, "you shouldn't leave broken dishes on the floor." She whipped out her wand. "Scourify!" The coffee vanished. "Reparo!" The broken mug repaired itself and flew into her hand. She looked at it and smiled with recognition. "I gave you this mug," she said, and looked up at Ron.  
  
His ears had turned bright red. "Um, yeah. Err. . . Hermione, I need to talk to you."  
  
The tone of his voice made Hermione worry. "Ok," she replied carefully as she sat down in the chair across from his and placed the newly fixed mug in front of her.  
  
After a moment of silence, he looked up and met her eyes. They were filled with concern, making them turn a dark shade. He thought of the honey and that calmed him a little. Then he took a deep breath. Harry was right, he had to tell her. He had to know.  
  
"I broke that cup this morning when I had a revelation," he stated.  
  
"Alright. . ."  
  
"I realized that something's been sitting in front of my face for years, something that would make me very happy, and I just noticed it."  
  
"Ron-"  
  
"I love you."  
  
She gapped at him. She felt like he had hit her in the face with a pile of bricks. After a minute, Ron was so nervous he couldn't take it any longer.  
  
"Um. . . Hermione?"  
  
"Could you say that again?" she asked slowly.  
  
"I love you, Hermione Granger."  
  
She stared at him a minute longer. "Are you making fun of me?" she whispered angrily, tears forming in her eyes.  
  
"NO!" He reached over and took her small hands in his large ones. "I really, really love you. I want to be with you."  
  
She stared at their hands. Then she looked back up at him. "Am I awake?"  
  
He laughed nervously. "Yes. You're awake. I'm awake too. This is real," the last part seemed to be directed more at himself than at Hermione.  
  
She stood, taking her hands from him, and walked around the table so she was looking down at him. He stared back at her, dying to know her answer.  
  
She eyed him for a moment. Then she took his face in her hands, swooped down, and kissed him.  
  
Ron could feel the blood rushing to his head. He grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her into his lap. She buried her hands in his thick hair, and kissed him with everything she had. He kissed back just as hungrily; savoring the feel of her lips on his, praying that it would never end.  
  
Eventually, however, it did. She pulled away slowly, and leaned her forehead against his, both of their eyes still closed.  
  
"That means I love you too," she whispered. He smiled widely, though she couldn't see it. Then he pressed his lips to hers, and thanked whatever Powers That Were for this gift.  
  
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Harry watched his friends from the kitchen door, grinning widely. Then he exited the apartment to leave them alone.  
  
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Awhile later, Hermione pulled away from Ron. He groaned in disappointment. "What?" he asked, a little annoyed.  
  
She glanced at her watch. "Damn!" she swore. "I'm late for work!" She looked at her watch a little closer. "Quite a bit late," she added with a smile. She tried to get up off Ron's lap, but he held her there. "Ron!" she exclaimed. "I really have to go."  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
"No. Harry said he'd tell your boss you were ill."  
  
"I can't do that! It's irresponsible!"  
  
"So? What's wrong with being irresponsible once in a while?" His face fell suddenly. "Or. . . do you just not want to be here?"  
  
"No, no, Ron, this is wonderful. I love being here with you, just like this, but-"  
  
"But what? Stay with me, Hermione. I need to know that this is real." He stared, at her, silently begging.  
  
The look in those big blue eyes made her melt. She pressed her forehead to his, and rubbed their noses together. "Alright," she whispered. "Just this once."  
  
He grinned in triumph. "No woman can resist the Ron Weasley puppy-dog eyes," he said smugly.  
  
She hit him lightly on the shoulder, chuckled, and pressed her body closer to his. Then she lowered her face, and kissed him again.  
  
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Harry aparated into the kitchen of the Burrow. The small kitchen was the same as it had always been, except for the addition of several framed copies of 'Witch Weekly' on the wall above mantle piece.  
  
One showed Ron in his Chudley Cannons uniform, holding his broom and grinning his trademark crooked grin. The cover stated boldly, "Our Men in Uniform. The 20 Hottest Quidditch Players of Our Time."  
  
On another, Fred and George leaned against each other, each holding one of their now very famous Wizard Wheezes. The caption said, "Witch Weekly's Exclusive Interview with the most famous twins of today: The suave, sexy, and rich businessmen Fred and George Weasley."  
  
On yet another was Hermione, standing straight and tall, holding a S.P.E.W banner in her hand. "Take A Stand. Hermione Granger, the activist for House-Elf's rights, speaks out."  
  
There was another that pictured Mr. Weasley. "From Muggle Misuse to the Big Chair. The story of Arthur Weasley, Minister of Magic.  
  
There was a final cover that Harry stood on in his Auror's uniform. "The Boy Who Lived. Where Harry Potter is now."  
  
Doing the magazine article had made Harry a little uncomfortable, but Ron managed talked him into it. For now, he chose to ignore the photo of himself looking gloomily down from the wall at him. "Mrs. Weasley?" he called. "Ginny?"  
  
Both Weasley women entered the kitchen. They looked at Harry's smiling face, then at each other.  
  
"What?" asked Ginny cautiously.  
  
"He figured it out," answered Harry.  
  
"What? Who figured what out?" queried Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Ron. He figured it out."  
  
"What?" gasped Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"You mean-" Ginny started.  
  
"Ron and Hermione are together. It's official," stated Harry, his smile growing.  
  
There was silence for a moment. Then the two women erupted in screams of excitement. They hugged each other as Harry looked on in amusement. Then they separated and Ginny threw herself at Harry, almost knocking him over, as Mrs. Weasley jumped around excitedly.  
  
The youngest Weasley wrapped her arms around Harry, and he was forced to put his arms around her waist to maintain balance. She kissed him on the cheek and Harry blushed a deep shade of crimson.  
  
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Harry started to smile and laugh more. Ron and Hermione developed a deep, meaningful relationship that resulted in a marriage proposal 9 months after that fateful morning. (Harry was forced to tell Ron, 'I told you so,' which nearly resulted in Harry with a black eye.)  
  
While the Weasleys and Harry could no longer discuss Ron and Hermione's idiocy, they could discuss when children would come, and what they would be like: which was nearly as much fun.  
  
And it all started when Ron dropped a coffee mug, and felt like he had been hit in the face with a pile a bricks.  
  
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End file.
